Garrison's Birthday
by WildClover27
Summary: A short, short for Ron Harper's birthday on January 12.


Garrison's Birthday

Snow blew in a swirl of tiny flakes through the hole in the roof of the derelict hut the men had taken shelter in. It coated the broken furniture in a fine white cover. Chief was outside, huddled under a bush, on watch. He wasn't any warmer. Goniff and Casino were by the glassless windows, looking out for soldiers or a let up in the frigid snow. They all wished for a fire, but there wasn't enough dry tinder to start one and they didn't know if there were enemy soldiers around.

Actor moved from a window to where the Lieutenant was sitting, huddled on the ground, leaning against a piece of wall. His knees were up to his chin and he was hugging himself. The Italian sat beside him, imitating the posture of the officer, and tucked his hands in his armpits in a vain attempt to warm them. He glanced down at his watch which he could barely see in the dim light.

"Well, Warden, I believe you have Goniff beat. Happy birthday. Yours is worse than Goniff's last one on a mission," said the con man wryly.

The dark blond head turned to give a jaundiced look at the slightly taller man beside him. "Nice of you to remember that, Actor," he said with a bit of sarcasm.

The Italian grinned with white teeth showing in the shadow. "We must take you for an evening at the Doves when we get back to make it up to you."

"Right now, I would take you up on that," said Garrison.

GGGGG

The atmosphere was a little noisy, but in a friendly sort of way. Garrison looked around for his men. Chief was playing darts with one of the locals and winning as was reported to be usual. A well-endowed barmaid, named Betty, or something like that, was leaning on Casino's shoulder looking at his hand of cards. The cracksman and Goniff were playing poker with another set of local men at a nearby table.

Craig looked in the direction of the bar and spotted Actor winding his way between tables with a pitcher of ale in one hand and a covered plate in the other. The con man grinned as he set the plate down in front of his chair and refilled Garrison's glass with the warm ale.

The confidence man flipped the cloth cover off the plate to reveal a tiny cupcake-appearing dainty cake in a paper liner. It was maybe a quarter of the size of a normal cupcake. Instead of frosting it had thin icing drizzled over the top. Actor picked up a birthday candle from beside it, stuck it in the top and lit it with his lighter. With a slight flourish, the Italian pushed the plate in front of Garrison.

Craig looked at it with raised eyebrows. "You got me a miniature cupcake?" he asked in surprise.

"Actually," said Actor, taking his seat, "I believe in England they are called fairy cakes. I would suggest you make a wish and blow out the candle before it melts the whole thing."

Craig gave a chuckle, pondered a moment and blew the candle out. He turned the plate around, eyeing the little cake. "That will never cut into five pieces," he remarked.

"It wasn't meant to be," said Actor. "It's all yours. And a happy belated birthday."

Craig chuckled again, removed the candle, peeled the paper off and looked at it again. It was a white cake. He could have easily popped the entire thing in his mouth at once, but bit off half of it. For war rations and substitutions, it was quite tasty. The other half followed.

"Where did you find it?" Garrison asked in amusement.

Actor leaned back in his chair and took a sip of ale. "Believe it or not, Robby has a wife. I asked him where I could locate a small cake without having to sneak into London. He asked his wife and as she was making a few for a children's party for a friend, she donated this one to you."

"I'll have to thank her," said Garrison. He shook his head. "How do you do it?" he asked.

Actor knew exactly what he meant and smiled widely. "Really, Warden, it's my elegant, charming personality. You know that."

"It certainly isn't your modesty," said Garrison with an answering grin. "You don't have a drop of it in you."

"Why would I?" the conman asked.

The two men leaned back in their chairs, lit cigarettes and gazed around the pub.

"Now isn't this better than where we were on your birthday?" asked Actor, knowingly.

"Yes, it is," agreed Craig.

"We must get you out more often."

Craig cocked a single raised eyebrow at his second-in-command. Secretly, he wouldn't have minded, but it wasn't befitting as their commanding officer.

"What did you wish for?"

Craig came back to the present. "Something Goniff would probably understand . . . that we all live through to the next birthday."

Actor picked up his glass and tilted it toward the younger man. "I will drink to that."

The two men touched glasses in a toast and drank to the next year.


End file.
